


Bound

by Savageseraph



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Angst, Blood, Bondage, Community: contrelamontre, Control, Desire, Dominance, Elves, Hurt/Comfort, Leadership, M/M, Pain, Prophecy, Resentment, Rough Sex, Roughness, Submission, Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-24
Updated: 2002-11-24
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:31:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageseraph/pseuds/Savageseraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One night of the Fellowship's journey after setting our from Rivendell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> An improv fic with the following guidelines: write a story that's split up in three sections. All sections should be about the exact same scene told from three different point of views. There is a one-hour time limit.
> 
> It's amazing how fast an hour can fly by! Though in this case, it was more like three 20-minute stretches.

It is harder for me when he is bound, hands secured above his head to one of the spikes we used to tether the pony. He lies quiet as I tie him, strip him. Kneeling between his thighs, feeling the tremors run through him as I lift his hips, I cannot see him as the lost king of my city. As the man who will steal what I devoted my life to defending and holding. It is hard.

His eyes meet mine. Hard--I cover his mouth to stifle his cry as I drive into him--but not impossible.

His body is still strung tight as I begin moving. No gentle rocking to coax him along with me. His tension around me is almost painful. His eyes are closed as he draws breath through clenched teeth. I know I am hurting him, but it is not enough. Not enough to make up for the pain he has kindled in me.

I pull his legs up, around my waist, needing to strike harder. Deeper. His eyes open as he twists his hips. His hands strain against his bonds, but Rangers are not the only men who are able to tie cunning knots.

A brutal thrust makes him groan. Deeper. He deserves this. For being of Isildur's blood. For the weakness that keeps him from claiming the Ring and using it against the Dark Lord. For all those times I see his eyes darken with suspicion instead of need.

His body moves now more with me than against, and as he trembles beneath me, I know it is from desire. How can he allow me to do this to him?

"Boromir...."

His brow is lined, his lips soft with worry. Or maybe pity. Damn him. I want to hit him, want to feel him break while I'm inside him. I bring my fist down toward his face, changing the angle only at the last moment to strike the ground near his head.

"Do it, if it will make you feel better."

I don't want his acquiescence, his surrender. I want him to fight me. I need it. Without resistance, any victory is incomplete. Tainted.

"I'll give you whatever you ask of me."

My whole body tightens at his words, and I forget about taking or winning. There is only this moment. Only having. I kiss him. My teeth draw blood as they cut his lips.

"Tell me what you need, Boromir," he says when I pull away from his mouth.

Ah, gods. There is only needing. Only him. He cannot stifle my cry as I spill inside him. His eyes burn like stars, clean but never cold, and when he arches against me, I feel the heat of his seed spreading between us.

#

It is easier for me when I'm bound. Things are simpler. There is no choice, no indecision. There is only response, and that is liberating. Sometimes, I feel like I'm floating, free for a moment of the burdens that weigh me down. That is not something I would tell him. And in any case, he would not understand.

As he moves between my thighs, I can't help but tense. I know well enough how it will be--hard and fast. I know it will hurt. He never asks about my comfort, never questions my readiness. I never ask for quarter or consideration. Each time the fierceness of the pain shocks me. He covers my mouth, muffling the cry that would have brought our companions looking for us.

He pulls my legs around his waist, spreading me and changing the angle so he can go deeper. Each thrust strikes fire in me. I twist my hips and struggle to match his rhythm, but he fights me.

When a particularly vicious thrust leaves me groaning, his eyes close. Sweat collects under them, and as he leans over me it drops on my cheek. My lips. He tastes like leather and almonds. He moves more slowly now, and at last, I begin to move with him. The muscles of his face are tense with anger or perhaps pain. I need to see his eyes to know for sure.

"Boromir...."

His eyes snap open. Green and feral. There is pain in them, so much pain that I can feel it crystal sharp in the air around him. I want to touch him, test the strength I have to heal against wounds he has spent a lifetime collecting. I want to craft a balm that will draw the darkness out of his heart. I want to hear him laugh with joy instead of bitterness.

His expression hardens just before I see a fist coming toward my face. It strikes the ground near my head.

"Do it, if it will make you feel better."

His rhythm falters, and he bows his head. The fingers of one hand gently graze my cheek, while the others close around my shoulder hard enough to bruise.

"I'll give you whatever you ask of me."

His expression grows fierce, though the fire that burns in him now is more passion than rage. As he kisses me, his teeth cut my lip. I taste my own blood and him as his tongue explores my mouth. His movement is desperate, erratic, and I know he is close.

I have to wait until he pulls back before I can speak. "Tell me what you need, Boromir."

One last thrust. He cries out. And as he spills inside me, he almost seems to glow; no shadows can touch him at that moment. He is so beautiful that it hurts to look at him. I let myself follow him into the light.

#

The Lady of Lorien passed a pale hand over the surface of the mirror. For a moment, Nenya gleamed, the only light reflected in dark water. Galadriel bowed her head. There was such sorrow in the world. Such loss. The paths before both Men were thick with it. And one day soon, they would bring it with them to the heart of Caras Galadhon.

These things were clear, and she would not change them, though she could. She could tell each man the words that would unlock the other's heart, shatter his silence. But she would not. Because of the towers.

In a fair city from another age, two towers of a castle began to weaken, and even the most cunning stonemasons could do nothing to prevent their fall. But something happened that no master craftsman expected: when the towers began to give, they crumbled against each other. Their individual weakness became a shared strength as they supported each other.

As these Men would do. Neither would have what he wanted of the other, but that was how things must be for each to keep the other from falling.


End file.
